'There are really only two types of men in the world when it comes to bad trouble,'
Andy said, cupping a match between his hands and lighting a cigarette. 'Suppose there
was a house full of rare paintings and sculptures and fine old antiques, Red? And suppose
the guy who owned the house heard that there was a monster of a hurricane headed right
at it. One of those two kinds of men just hopes for the best. The hurricane will change
course, he says to himself. No right-thinking hurricane would ever dare wipe out all these
Rembrandts, my two Degas horses, my Jackson Pollocks and my Paul Klees. Furthermore,
God wouldn't allow it. And if worst comes to worst, they're insured. That's one sort of
man. The other sort just assumes that hurricane is going to tear right through the middle
of his house. If the weather bureau says the hurricane just changed course, this guy
assumes it'll change back in order to put his house on ground zero again. This second type
of guy knows there's no harm in hoping for the best as long as you're prepared for the
I lit a cigarette of my own. 'Are you saying you prepared for the eventuality?'
'Yes. I prepared for the hurricane. I knew how bad it looked. I didn't have much time,
but in the time I had, I operated.
Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank redemption